Magic Dance
by Child of a Broken Dawn
Summary: Raising a baby as a teenage single mother is hard, but Emma Swan didn't mean to wish her son away to the goblins. Too bad the Goblin Queen is so literal-minded. Can she get through the labyrinth in time to rescue Henry? Or is her annoyingly attractive host interested in more than just the baby? SWANQUEEN AU BASED ON THE MOVIE "LABYRINTH."
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Clearly, when in the middle of one story for a completely different fandom, the best thing to do is to start something else. But the plot bunnies called and I had to answer. Any Moment will still be updating, but I can't speak to which fic will update more often. Enjoy.

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><p>Janine DiMarco was a landlady. 57 years old, twice divorced, and- the neighborhood gossips said –on the hunt for Husband Number Three. Despite her predilection for young bodybuilders, loud daytime television, and doilies on every available surface, she kept her apartment building clean and in good repair. The rent was surprisingly reasonable. And it seemed that no lifestyle could be too bizarre for her to tolerate; she allowed same- and opposite-sex couples alike, with no fuss as to whether those couples were married, and she was remarkably "4:20 friendly." In fact, she had but one stipulation for her tenants besides good credit history and no violent homicides.<p>

No children.

So if a young bartender happened to have an infant son, and happened to occupy the apartment just above Ms. DiMarco's own, and that baby happened to start crying…

"Henry, please. Hey. I'm serious. Please be quiet." Emma bounced the child gently, with a fearful glance at the faded kitchen rug. Nothing was coming up through the floor but the sounds of The Late Show- yet. Henry continued to wail, his face red.

The 18-year-old bit her lip. "Kid, if Janine comes up here, we're on the street. Do you want that?" she said, an edge of panic creeping into her voice. "I've fed you, burped you, changed you twice, and you don't have a fever. For the love of god, what's wrong?"

As most almost-one-year-olds would, the baby replied only with more crying. Holding him closer, she sighed and started pacing the room. After the third circuit around the thrift shop table with its two mismatched chairs, Henry still showed no signs of calming down. His mood seemed to have grown worse, if anything. It was nothing short of a miracle that footsteps hadn't yet pounded up the stairs, followed by shrill demands to know what was going on.

"That's one good thing," Emma muttered under her breath, looking down at her son. "No matter how loud you get, that cougar never seems to catch on. Granted, I have no idea how."

In their three months of living in the apartment, never so much as a close call. It would have been a miracle, if Emma believed in miracles.

"But the real miracle would have been Daddy not skipping out on us," she said, half to herself and half to Henry. The young woman lifted her baby slightly and looked into his big, watering eyes. "Daddy was a real bastard, you know that? How could he leave someone as cute as you?"

_Good thing no-one ever asked about that._ Having a baby at 18 was bad enough by most standards, but a single teenage mother- a single **orphan **teenage mother –had almost no chance at all of a decent life. There had been a few in women's correctional facility. The same women who'd initially scorned Emma for her youth and standoffishness spared her a few pitying glances when the prison doctor had confirmed it.

"_I want to keep him."_

"_Hon, you have no idea what you're getting into."_

And she hadn't. Emma Swan left prison with no job, no home, no prospects- and no son. Barely a high school diploma to her name, and thus not exactly the kind of person the Arizona foster care system was eager to return a baby to. But as she'd stood there on the sidewalk with $20 in her pocket and a backpack with one change of clothes, a man came out of the grocery store across the street. He pulled out a piece of paper and a Sharpie and began scribbling.

NOW HIRING, the sign read. Taping it to the window under the faded awning, the man turned to go back inside. Almost like a voice in her ear, something spurred Emma on.

"Wait!" she called. He turned in the doorway.

"What?"

"You're hiring?" Her voice was hoarse, but loud enough to be heard over the driving rain.

"Yeah, one of our cashiers just quit," he said. "Why? You interested?"

After what seemed like a remarkably short interview process, she suddenly found herself with a job. Not a good one, exactly, but it was better than nothing. The employee who'd put the sign out listened to her quest to regain custody of Henry, thought for a moment, and offered her use of his spare bedroom.

"It's not much," he said, "but my wife is pregnant right now. I'd hate to think of a little baby out on the street, especially if the mom was as young as you are."

"I don't have a baby."

"Not yet. But you seem like a good kid. They'll come around."

Emma smiled wryly. "You've known me for an hour, Mr. Alvarez."

"Julio, please. And I'm good at reading people," he said. "You definitely seem like mommy material."

She tried to pay, or at least offer, but he waved her words away like flies. "Nah. Don't worry about it. It's like karma, you know? Just don't bring any drugs or bad boyfriends into the house and we're good."

Almost nine months later, he'd come home with the number of a friend with a restaurant up in Maine. Mr. Thomas Lynne, it seemed, was in need of a bartender. And it just so happened that Emma had gotten her license the week before; further, her remarkably short parole was over.

"I like living here."

"It's a small town," Julio said. "Better place to raise a kid for sure."

Emma glanced over at the bassinet on the counter. That was the other big change, one she could barely believe was real. Yes, there had been paperwork and visits from a social worker, but it had been surprisingly easy to get Henry back. Almost **too** easy. It seemed like, overnight, she had regained both her son and her freedom.

Henry gurgled and shifted in his blankets. "Maine, though?" she asked, walking over to the bassinet and picking him up. "That's a pretty long trip."

Julio shrugged. "Change of scenery, might be good for you. And the job pays a hell of a lot more than working at the Safeway."

That was three months ago. And all of it, from getting Henry back to finding her first and second job, had happened almost like magic. She would have been suspicious, but-

"-I don't believe in magic," she said to the still-crying baby in her arms. Right before taking one step too far to the left and stubbing her toe on something flat, but sharp.

"Ow! Son of a-" Glancing down, she stared reproachfully at the item in question. It was a fairly innocent book, small and bound in red leather, that she'd been reading to Henry earlier. The title was printed on the cover in gold-embossed lettering: The Labyrinth. Henry's favorite book, if his relative calm while she read it was any indication.

_Is it really his favorite, though? Have you ever even seen it before today? _a voice in the back of her head asked quietly. She shook her head as if to chase it away. Of course this was Henry's favorite book. The fact that she couldn't quite remember when she'd last read it to him was immaterial.

"The Labyrinth, huh? Okay, let's give it a try." Shifting Henry to her other arm, she began to read.

"Once upon a time, long ago, there lived a beautiful princess. Royalty though she was, her life was far from happy, for she lived in exile…"

Time wore on as she read, and the young woman found herself becoming engrossed in the story. She barely even noticed when Henry stopped crying to watch her intently. The TV clicking off in the apartment below didn't even register. Nor did a car full of presumably drunk men speeding past outside, trailing shouts and thumping bass in its wake.

"The princess raised her infant son, and…" Emma paused for the first time to look at her own child. Henry was now sucking intently on a strand of her long, blonde hair; she smiled at him.

"Hey, little guy. Mom's been ignoring you, hasn't she? Mom's just as bad as this princess- who, between the two of us, is kind of a bitch," she said in a conspiratorial whisper. "Do you know what she's about to do?"

Thunder rumbled outside, almost making her jump. Her brow creased slightly in confusion. "Huh. Weird. The weather channel didn't say anything about a storm."

With a shrug, she went on. "She raised her infant son-" Emma lifted Henry up, setting the book down; she'd already skimmed the next few passages, and words stuck in her memory easily. "-and said, I wish-" Another peal of thunder interrupted. This time, there seemed to be low, velvety laughter under the sound; Emma shivered, but told herself firmly that her mind was playing tricks.

"She said, 'I wish the goblins would come and take you away right now'."

At that moment, lightning flashed at the window, brighter than any the teenage mother had ever seen before, and accompanied by thunder louder than any she could have imagined. The wind picked up, howling around the eaves of the house-turned-apartment-building, and for a few terrifying seconds, she was certain something had gone very wrong. Henry twisted in her hands; twisted, squirmed, and then-

-nothing. The sudden storm outside fell silent. Henry made an indistinct noise and closed his eyes. With a sigh of relief, she brought him slowly down again to cradle him in her arms.

"Your mom's afraid of shadows, kid." Gently, she planted a kiss on his tiny forehead. "And the goblins can't have you. Not ever."

She placed Henry in his crib, moving slowly so as not to wake him, and tucked the blanket around his still form. With a fond look at her sleeping child, she tiptoed out of the room as quietly as possible and flicked off the light on her way out.

_I'll have to find a bigger place someday. He can't keep sleeping in the living room/kitchen space forever. A two-room works now, but..._

Lost in thought, she almost didn't notice the strange, cackling laugh that echoed through the dark room behind her. Almost. And upon hearing it, she almost wished she hadn't. Emma turned, slowly, breath caught in her throat.

"H-hello?"

No response.

"Hey, whoever you are, get the fuck out of my apartment. I've got a crowbar and I know how to use it." _Oh, very intimidating, Emma._ She winced, but continued across the living room.

Out of the corner of her eye, a flicker of movement. The dust ruffle on the painfully old-fashioned sofa rippled, as if something was running just behind it. And then, she heard it again: that inhuman laugh.

"Cut it out!" Her fists clenched, as if grasping the crowbar that was still under her bed in the next room. A smart person would have kept it closer to the baby than herself, but- _Oh my god. Henry._

More lightning flashed outside as she approached the crib. Suddenly, the blanket moved, and she heard the spine-chilling laughter yet again- this time, coming from the spot where Henry lay. For a moment, her heart almost stopped.

_No._

Steeling herself, she reached in, grabbed a corner of the blanket, and pulled it away in one quick motion. What she saw made it feel as if the bottom had dropped out of the world.

Henry was gone.

Not dead, not transformed into some kind of goblin- _why did I think that? _- but simply not there. The crib was empty. Emma struggled to breathe, struggled to think, struggled to regain the voice that had gotten trapped in her throat.

Finally, she managed words. "Give me back my son!"

And the room went crazy.

Cabinet doors seemed to open and shut of their own accord. The newspaper on the table began to flip its pages. Not just the dust ruffle, but the entire plaid couch started to shake. Underscoring all of it was the strange laughter, accompanied now by squeaks, chirps, and derisive muttering. It seemed to her that she could make out snatches of conversation.

"Oooh, she's not gonna like this-"

"-give back, give back, like she's _earned_ it!"

"Boss lady!"

That particular phrase filled the room for a solid minute, it seemed. Just when Emma found herself wondering who or what "boss lady" could possibly be to disembodied voices, the entire invisible rabble fell silent. The only sounds in the room were her own ragged breathing and the storm outside.

There was no way to make this right. The landlady would throw her out for keeping a child here if she went to her for help. Even going to the police would bring trouble, because they'd certainly tell. Losing the apartment might bring the wrath of the still-vigilant Child Protective Services on her head, and then she'd lose Henry for the second- no, now the third time. Could a heart even still beat after being broken three times?

_But better for him to be safe with someone else than missing._ She'd do it. She'd call the police, face eviction, and give Henry up when they found him. When, not if. They had to find him; the alternative was unthinkable.

Just as she'd resolved this and started for the battered, wall-mounted phone, the storm started up again with a vengeance. A gust of wind blasted the window, forcing it open. The curtains danced, and for a moment she couldn't make out what was navy blue cotton and what was something both dark and light, and feathered…

The shadows around the window shivered, changed, and coalesced back into a humanoid shape. A long cape was thrown back dramatically, to reveal a tall woman unlike any Emma'd ever seen. What looked like armor hugged her body, apparently made of dark leather and studded with black gems. Her brown hair blew around her face in the gusts from the still-open window, and her face, though lovely, was set in a sneer.

"Hello, Emma."

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><p><strong>AN:** More to come. Probably sporadically, but it will come.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Okay. I have a lot of other things I should be doing, but I'm going to try getting through another chapter of this. Here goes nothing.

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><p>When the billowing clouds of glitter finally died down, Emma was able to get a better look at the intruder. Tall, dark, and…admittedly, very attractive, just like she'd thought. But in 18 years, Emma had learned that demons could wear a pretty face. This woman had no business here.<p>

"What are you doing in my house?" she demanded, striding forward. "Where the hell is my son?"

The woman arched one perfect eyebrow. "Your son? What son?"

" 'What son,' my ass," Emma said through gritted teeth. "My son, Henry," she continued, gesturing at the empty crib, "who until just now was sleeping peacefully right there. Now he's not, and my apartment is _laughing at me_!" Her voice rose to a shout by the end of the sentence. The stranger raised a black-gloved hand in caution.

"Ah, ah, ah. Don't want to wake the landlady, do you?"

Emma paused, confusion growing in her eyes. "Wait. What do you know about my landlady?"

With a low, throaty chuckle, the brunette began to circle the younger woman. Emma got the uncomfortable feeling that she was being mentally undressed.

"Oh, I know all about you, Miss Swan. Emma- may I call you Emma? I know you have a precious baby; I know you were in prison when he was born. Very irresponsible of you, if I may say. I know that you think getting him back was just a little _too_ easy, and so was finding first one job, then another."

"And," she concluded, sweeping back to her original place before the open window, "I know that you wished him away to the goblins tonight."

Emma's jaw dropped. "What?!"

"After struggling for him for so long, too."

"Listen, lady, I don't know who you are or what you think-"

"Such a pity."

"I didn't wish my son away to anyone!" Emma burst out, running a shaking hand through her hair. Unconsciously, she began to pace, her bare feet quiet against the threadbare carpet. At least there was that, and Janine wouldn't wake up-god, why would she think about Janine at a time like this?

Tall, Hot, and Menacing smirked. "What's said is said, my dear. And can't be taken back."

"Look," Emma said tightly. She stopped her pacing and marched across the room, getting in the mysterious woman's face to the best of her ability. "just who exactly are you?"

"I think you know," came the reply, along with a slight nod towards the thin book that lay discarded on the floor. Emma blinked for a moment, uncomprehending. Then her eyes widened.

"You're…"

"The Goblin Queen," she purred, holding out her black cloak and sweeping a graceful curtsy, "at your service."

"Emma Swan; really, really not at yours."

The Goblin Queen threw back her head and laughed- and that was when Emma's fear began melting into annoyance. It was a gesture straight out of a melodramatic '80s movie, something incongruous with the unromantic reality of the situation. Perhaps that's why she finally snapped.

Closing the distance between them, Emma grabbed the Goblin Queen's throat. "Listen, _Your Majesty_," she hissed, "I don't know what you think you're doing. But you'd better stop slinking around like a Disney villain and tell me where my son is. Now. Or things are going to get very ugly."

Brown eyes met green. Under her hand, Emma felt the pulse in the intruder's neck; it seemed to speed up slightly. Her breath grew shallow; her eyes wide. Then- she smiled and leaned forward. When her crimson lips were level with Emma's ear, close enough that the blonde could feel warm breath against her skin, she whispered, "With pleasure."

An instant later, Emma was holding air. She whirled, searching in the darkness for the woman who'd been right in front of her. Suddenly, a voice behind her said, "He's right there. In my castle."

She turned to see the Queen gesturing grandly out the window. Where there'd formerly been an uninspiring view of the parking lot and some shrubs, now an alien landscape stretched out as far as the eye could see. Stone walls curved and twisted in an elaborate pattern, all the way to the horizon and out of sight. Right in their midst, at the very center, Emma could make out jagged-looking spires that might have been attached to some kind of castle. And where it had been after dark just a minute ago, now a blazing sun was just breaking somewhere behind her.

Emma looked over her shoulder to ask what was going on, and gasped. Her living room had vanished. Instead, she stood on a large hill overlooking the strange maze. Except for a few bare trees- bare and glittery, she noticed –the young woman was completely alone.

"Huh," she muttered to herself. "It doesn't look too far."

"It's further than you think."

Maybe not _completely_ alone. When she caught her breath, the blonde glared at the other woman. The Goblin Queen smirked back. A clock appeared in the air beside her; the Baroque ornamentation almost prevented Emma from noticing that it had thirteen numbers around the face instead of twelve.

"You have thirteen hours to solve the Labyrinth before your infant son becomes one of us forever," the Queen intoned. No sooner had the words left her lips than she began to vanish, and the clock with her. The last, "Such a pity" hung in the air for a moment after she'd completely disappeared.

Emma shivered. "Okay, that wasn't unnecessarily creepy at all." She looked out at the distant palace and blew air out through her lips.

"Well, come on, feet." And with that, she started down the hill towards the brown stone walls.

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><p>"Uh…excuse me?"<p>

The quiet tinkling sound stopped abruptly, and Emma was torn between relief and embarrassment. When she'd stood there for a solid half-minute listening to a strange man urinate, it was hard to know what to think. Now, though, the man fumbled with the front of his trousers for a moment- thankfully, his back was to her –and whirled with a dramatic flourish.

"No, excuse me, dearie," he said in a voice that seemed on the edge of a cackle. "I shouldn't have been relieving myself in front of a lady. Not that I knew a lady was present…oh. It's you."

He sounded almost disappointed as his eyes roved over Emma, taking her in. Determined to give as good as she got, the young woman stared right back. The man's skin was lizard-like, grayish and scaly, but with an odd sheen of gold to it; his eyes were gold to match. His clothing was a stark contrast to his otherwise grotesque appearance: an ornate leather waistcoat over a brocade shirt, and soft-looking breeches. An ostentatious brooch in the shape of a star sparkled at his throat as her turned this way and that, regarding Emma from every angle.

"Well," he said finally, "it's been lovely to make your acquaintance, Emma, but some of us have work to do." With that, he picked up what looked like a pesticide sprayer, lying on its side in the dry, brown grass. He walked toward the wall, completely ignoring her presence.

Emma groaned and followed him. "Listen, I need…to…"

Her voice trailed off. Rising from the scrubby weeds along the wall were several tiny, female figures. Each had silvery hair, slender limbs, and shimmering wings that looked as fine as cobwebs. In spite of herself, Emma was enthralled. One of them floated in her direction, a beatific smile on its face.

Fairies, she recalled dimly from childhood, granted wishes. And right now, there was only one thing she wished. Better to trust something definitely good than that Goblin Queen woman.

"Hey," she whispered, as the fairy settled in her hand. "Can you get my son back?"

Silence was the only answer, and a wider smile- and a sharp sting as the fairy turned and sank its teeth into her finger.

Emma dropped it with a shout. "What the hell? It bit me!"

The pesticide sprayer appeared over her shoulder and sent a blast of something green and noxious-looking onto the fairy, who immediately collapsed into the dirt. "Fifty-seven! Haha, gotcha, you little demon!"

Looking triumphant, the strange man helped her to her feet. "You won't get very far like that, dearie. Best learn to be more cautious."

Emma raked a hand through her hair. "Yeah, well, I grew up thinking fairies were nice. I guess I was wrong."

"Some are. Some are not. They're a bit like humans that way. Flower fey, however, bite. Even the ones that would be better called scrawny weed fey," he replied.

"Thanks for the tip, uh…I didn't catch your name," she said. Her companion just smiled.

"That's because I never gave it."

"And yet," she said, realizing belatedly, "you seemed to catch mine."

"When you let it roam around freely, what do you expect?"

She groaned, which elicited that eerie giggle once again. The spindly man bowed with a flourish. "Rumplestiltskin, not at all at your service. And I'm only telling you because I feel sorry for you."

"Hey!" Emma's eyes narrowed. "I'm doing just fine, thanks. I don't need your pity, and I certainly don't need your help."

"But of course you are. I'll just leave you to it, then." With that, Rumplestiltskin began to walk away. Emma marched up to the heavy double doors that seemed to be the only way into the labyrinth, and pulled on one of the huge copper handles. It didn't budge. She tried again. Still nothing.

After about three minutes of pulling with all of her (considerable) upper body strength, she slumped against the door. A giggle sounded from just behind her; she turned to see Rumplestiltskin standing there, leaning against the wall as if he'd been there the whole time.

"It looks like you could use some help after all, dearie."

Emma rolled her eyes. "No, I don't."

"Well, the way I see it, you have two options," he said. With a flourish of his right hand, "Try to open that door on your own and stay out here until you die and the Queen keeps your child-" and with a flourish of his left –"or let me help you and stand a chance at getting him back."

Emma thought for a moment, and stepped away from the door with a sigh. "Whatever. Go ahead. For all I know, some maniac kidnapped Henry for ransom and slipped me something and this is all a hallucination."

"If you really believe that," he said, "you're doomed before you start." But he tapped the doors lightly and they swung open, with much creaking and clanking of chains.

Carefully, Emma stepped inside. To her left, a long, straight path stretched as far as the eye could see, bounded by brown stone walls. The opposite side was identical. After a quick mental "eeny-meeny-miney-mo," she started down the path to the right.

"Good luck, dearie," Rumplestiltskin's voice echoed behind her. "You're going to need it." And the heavy doors slammed shut.

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><p><strong>AN:** I might have to re-watch Labyrinth for research purposes. What a hardship.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** What's this? Could it be…a chapter? Oh no! A sign of the apocalypse; I actually updated! Enjoy. I still don't own any of the characters.

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><p>She moved through this place like moving through fog.<p>

It was protean, ever-changeable, subject to her whims. Here, of all places, Regina was truly queen. She could reorder time if she so chose (and she had). She could make the moon rise at a different point on the horizon every night (and she did). Here, the forever powerless woman finally controlled her own life- and all other lives.

For the first year, it had been heaven. For the next five, a delight. The first ten, true happiness. But around year fifteen, something started to feel wrong.

Staring out the large, round window, year eighteen, Regina pushed such thoughts out of her mind. Everything would be fine now. She had what she'd wanted for so long: a child.

As if on cue, Henry stirred in her arms and began to make tiny noises. She bounced him gently while swaying back and forth, murmuring a lullaby under her breath. Since his arrival, he'd been so well-behaved, barely even crying. He even seemed to enjoy being held by her. The baby snuggled closer, and Regina felt…happy? Could she be, after so long?

All she'd ever wanted was to win for once. To have a place where she got the happy ending. Despite being married to a king, Regina had ruled nothing for years. Now, she ruled everything, and anything could be altered at her whim. And yet-

And yet, that was just the problem. Everything changed. When you cannot lose, you also cannot win; such was the truth that the Goblin Queen had slowly discovered after ascending her throne.

"But you," she murmured to Henry, "you are just the right amount of challenge."

Turning from the window, she swept back into the throne room, the heavy train of her redingote whispering against the marble floor. Morning sunlight made streaks of gray on the black walls and set the quartz flecks in the stone sparkling. The room was empty, as usual, of anyone except her. The queen ruled in strictest privacy, and entering her presence without permission could be severely punished. Her gleaming throne room was usually silent as the grave.

So when her little guest woke up completely and started to wail, Regina almost jumped a foot in the air.

"Oh, damn," she muttered. "Shh, shh. What is it? Are you tired?" She tried rocking him, then rocking him and crooning the only lullaby she could think of. Nothing.

"Are you…um…dirty?" But the only smell on him was that of baby powder, with a slight undertone of chemical flowers on his clothes. The latter confused her, but Regina had more pressing matters at hand. Henry was still crying.

She began to pace, still gently bouncing the baby. "No, no, no. Please don't cry. Everything's fine. I'm your mother now. Please stop. Please- can't you just tell me what's wrong?"

More crying. Regina blew air out through her lips in a decidedly un-regal way.

"Of course you can't; you're a baby. Stupid of me."

Henry's little face was turning red. Frantically, she tried to think of a solution. "What would that silly girl who bore you do?" she muttered.

And suddenly, it hit her.

"Oh," she said, face falling. "Of course." The baby, having been asleep for a few hours now, had gotten hungry. "And that means nursing- right?"

Henry hiccupped, providing a brief respite for Regina's ears, before resuming his cries.

"Well, I can't do that," she sighed. "I don't have milk, since I didn't actually birth you. Or…are you old enough for other kinds of food?" Regina frowned, brows creasing. It was becoming rapidly apparent that, besides liking them, she didn't know the first thing about babies.

She thought for a moment. _Who in this wasteland of a kingdom has any experience with infants?_ It was almost certain that none had been born since her- their –arrival. The scrying orbs would have told her. _So who-_

"Of course," she said, red lips curling into a devious smile. "It's only fitting that she help, too."

Regina turned, the redingote skirt fanning out behind her as she strode across the room to delicate silver pedestal. She picked up a tiny bell wrought from equally fine silver and rang it a few times. A moment later, the hedgehog-like goblin who had been waiting outside the door rushed in.

"Your Maj'sty." He bowed so low that his little red hat fell off, and Regina forced herself to stifle a chuckle. One thing about the Goblin Kingdom: its native inhabitants never failed to amuse.

"Piker," she said coolly, "fetch me the largest scrying orb. I need to speak with the Knight of the Bog."

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><p>For a weird dream, Emma had to admit that things had suddenly turned very boring.<p>

She'd been walking for nearly an hour and found nothing but stone walls forming a straight corridor that continued on as far as the eye could see. **Glittery** stone walls, no less.

"Geez, does the Goblin Queen have a glam rock fetish or something?" she muttered under her breath. "Subconscious, you gotta work on coming up with scarier villains."

Of course it was a dream. She'd known that going in. Alternate worlds, strange lizard-men, fairies, magic…none of those things were real. Never for a second had Emma entertained the thought that any of this was really happening.

But if it wasn't real, what was the point of resisting? Dreams were an escape; years in the foster care system had taught her that. And for a girl who'd spent most of her child devouring '90s fantasy novels from the public library, there were worse dreams than a magical adventure.

_Maybe this is a metaphor for my feelings of inadequacy as a mother. _As quickly as it had come, she pushed the thought aside. She was a fine mother. Never mind that sometimes it felt like someone else had gotten Henry back, things had happened so fast. Never mind the hours she spent leaning over his crib, wondering what would happen when he got older and needed more space than the tiny apartment could provide. Never mind that she was only nineteen. Never mind that-

" 'Ello!"

Never mind that a worm was talking to her. The young woman looked down and saw the fuzzy, blue insect smiling up at her on a loose brick that jutted from the wall. It appeared to be wearing a red scarf.

"Did…did you just talk?" she asked warily.

"Yeah, 'sright! 'Ow d'ye do?" the worm chirped.

Emma blinked several times. "Um. Fine?"

"Well," he- the worm sounded distinctly masculine, she realized –said sagely, "if ye wants to stay fine, ye'll find a way out o' here as soon as possible!"

Crouching down, she looked the little worm in the eye. He met her gaze calmly. _If it's just a dream, what's the harm?_

"Do you know how to get through this labyrinth?" she asked. The worm sighed and shook his head.

"Nah. I'm just a worm. Listen, why not come inside and meet the Missus?" He jerked his head towards a tiny door in the wall.

"I don't think I'd fit," Emma said. She examined the wall across from the worm's hole. "Listen, how come there aren't any openings or doorways or turns here? I saw the Labyrinth from outside before, and it was all…twisty. Like a normal labyrinth. Now it's just straight."

To her surprise, the worm laughed. "Oh, ye're not the most observant. There's an opening just there, right across the way!"

"Uh, no, there isn't."

"Gods' truth. Just over there." The worm inclined his little head towards what looked like a very solid stretch of brown brick.

Emma raised an eyebrow. "Okay…" But she stood and walked towards the wall. She reached out to touch it- and gasped when, instead of hitting hard stone, her hand felt only air. "Hey!"

Where the wall appeared solid, there was in fact a recessed opening, with the shrub-lined walls on either side appearing flush with the back wall of this new path. It was an optical illusion the likes of which she'd never seen.

"There's another path here!" she cried, staring down a long, brick-lined way that bent out of sight at the end. The worm laughed again.

"Things aren't always what they seem, milady. Here or anywhere. So ye can't go takin' aught for granted."

"That's probably the psychoanalytic part of the dream, right?" she muttered under her breath.

"Beg yer pardon?" the worm said.

Emma shook her head. "Nothing. Thanks for your help." With that, she started down the path in front of her- only to be stopped by the worm's insistent voice.

" 'Ang on! Not that way! Never go that way!" he said urgently. Taking a few steps back to the opening, she frowned at him.

"Why not?"

"Because if you keep going that way," he explained in a hushed tone, "you'll end up at the queen's castle! The queen don't like visitors, and that's a fact."

Emma's eyes widened. "Are you kidding? That's exactly where I need to go! She has my son!" And, ignoring the worm's shouts of protest, she turned and ran down the path. It almost seemed that she could hear a baby crying if she listened hard enough.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Sorry for the short chapter. It's finals week, and while I don't have any tests, I do have a boatload of final papers and projects. It's been an age since I updated, though, and that's not good. So here you go, and the next one will hopefully be longer.

A redingote, by the way, is that jacket-with-a-long-skirt thing Regina wears over pants in the Enchanted Forest. Just FYI.


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